


Between the Lines

by blancafic



Series: Blanca, Libby, and Sabrina Do Kink Bingo [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No SHIELD (Marvel), Attachments AU, Casual drinking, Epistolary, F/M, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blancafic/pseuds/blancafic
Summary: "Do you believe in love at first sight?""I don't know," he said. "Do you believe in love before that?"Leo Fitz mostly hates that his job at a news website involves reading other people's email. The only thing that keeps him going are the fascinating exchanges between two particular journalists in the news room upstairs. Especially a certain science reporter named Jemma Simmons.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Series: Blanca, Libby, and Sabrina Do Kink Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615822
Comments: 101
Kudos: 140
Collections: MCU Kink Bingo Round 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the book Attachments, by Rainbow Rowell. Formatting and some story elements borrowed from the book. The rest is, well, borrowed from Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. So my contribution here is . . . um . . . putting them together, I guess?
> 
> Written to fill the "Character is a Journalist" square for 2020 MCU Kink Bingo.
> 
> Extra special thanks to my amazing Kink Bingo partners in crime Libby (@libbyweasley) and Sabrina (@AgentOfShip) for all their support, encouragement, and helpful suggestions. They make everything better in so, so many ways.

Fitz hated first days. First day of school, first day on holiday, first day at a new job. They all filled him with a kind of looming dread. There were too many variables and only so much data you could collect in advance, making it impossible to accurately predict how the day would go. He knew he didn’t make a great first impression. He was more of an acquired taste. Being socially awkward by nature, he valued structure and predictability to get by. But developing a routine and proving yourself took time.

On his first day at The Shield, though, Fitz got the feeling that even with all the time in the world, he’d still be out of his element. He’d applied for a job at the online news site as a network security specialist. It wasn’t exactly his dream job, but that wasn’t an option right now thanks to the accident that still sometimes caused his hands to shake and his words to fail him. He was making progress and getting better every day, but he still had a long way to go. Protecting a system from hackers, spammers, cyber criminals, and the like seemed like something he could manage for the time being.

But when Fitz arrived his new boss Mack immediately informed him that they already had a crack security team working on all of that. What they needed instead was someone to handle communication monitoring and fortification. Which was just a fancy way of saying his new position would mainly involve reading other people’s email. If he hadn’t needed the job so badly, if he wasn’t making his first tentative step back into the workplace following his injury, if Mack hadn’t been so nice to him after he was certain he’d buggered up the interview, he would have quit then and there.

He spent most of his first day in the building’s dark, dingy basement shadowing Mack, who introduced him to the rest of the IT team and got him situated at his new workstation. They never ventured to the well-lit upper floors where the rest of the site’s employees worked. Mack said it was probably better if he didn’t get to know them personally, and vice versa. Fitz didn’t have any issues with that in itself, he preferred to work on his own anyway, but it didn’t reassure him about the ethical quagmire he was potentially stepping into. He went home feeling anxious about the next day, when the real work would begin.

“I could just not go back tomorrow,” Fitz said to his roommate later that night over drinks. Hunter had insisted on taking him out to celebrate his first day, though Fitz was hardly in the mood. “Do you think they’d notice?”

“Sorry, but I think they would, mate,” Hunter said. He took a sip of from his bottle of beer, then pointed it toward Fitz. “May I remind you that you only got the interview because Bobbi vouched for you. You might be able to walk away and not look back, but she still has to work there.”

Fitz hadn’t considered that. Bobbi and Hunter had both been there for him throughout his recovery, no matter the state of their own relationship. When he’d mentioned to them one night after a few drinks that he might be ready to start thinking about going back to work, Bobbi made it her mission to find him something at the website where she worked as a copy editor. It was less than a week before she sent him a link to the posting for a network security specialist.

“I can get you through the door,” she’d written in her email. “The rest is up to you.”

Fitz picked at the label on his beer bottle with a shaky hand. “I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong. You’ve both been really patient and helpful through all this and I know I haven’t always shown my . . . appreciation. It’s just, when I said I was ready to go back to work, this isn’t what I thought I’d be doing. I’m an engineer. I should be designing and building things, not . . . not conducting electronic sur . . . sur . . . spying on a bunch of journalists.”

“First of all, it’s a website, so maybe ‘journalists’ is overstating it a bit. And secondly, do you really have an ethical objection here or is it just your ego talking?”

“Both, I guess.”

Hunter turned on his barstool so he could face Fitz directly. “Look, we both know I’m better at drinking away problems than solving them, but I’m going to give you some advice anyway. Maybe this job is a waste of your talents, but it could be exactly what you need right now. You’ll get your mojo back eventually. In the meantime, get off your moral high horse, collect your very generous salary, and work on your engineering projects in your own time.”

The next day, Fitz went back to work with renewed dedication. Hunter had a point. This didn’t have to be a permanent solution. He wasn’t quite ready to go back to engineering anyway. So he might as well stay at The Shield for as long as he could stand it and see what happened. Maybe it wouldn’t be so horrible. At least he didn’t have to talk to anyone. He’d be the best bloody email screener they’d ever seen, and perhaps eventually he could show them what he was really capable of.

Mack was already there when he got to the office. Fitz greeted him with a nod, dropped his backpack off in his assigned cubicle, and fixed himself a cup of tea in the break room before settling down at his desk to get started. The tracking program, enigmatically called Directr, had already been installed on his computer. He logged in and checked the folder filled with all the emails that had been captured overnight by the filter. All he had to do was scan the messages from the day before, determine which ones violated company policy, and send an anonymous warning to the offenders informing them as such.

He took a sip of his still-steaming tea, opened the folder, and began reading the first email in it.

 **From:** Daisy Johnson  
**To:** Jemma Simmons  
**Sent:** Monday, 9/21/2015 10:24 AM  
**Subject:** Where are you?

I’m bored and you’re not in yet and I have no one to talk to. What are you doing this morning that’s keeping you away? Did you oversleep? Were you out partying until all hours of the night? Oh, wait, I forgot who I was writing to. I bet you probably stayed up late watching a 5-hour documentary on Jane Goodall or something. Am I close? Write me back as soon as you get here.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Not even remotely close. I had an interview at the university this morning for a piece I’m writing about Jahn-Teller metals. A researcher there is studying this totally new state of matter in which localized electrons on the fullerene molecules demonstrate coexistence with metallicity. Isn’t that exciting? It could completely change the way we think about superconductivity. I can’t wait to get started. But for now you have my complete attention, so proceed.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** I think we have very different definitions of “exciting.” I have no idea what any of that means, but if you’re excited, then I’m excited for you. Okay, here’s the deal: I have a crush!

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:** **> >** Oh, dear. Who is the lucky individual this time?

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Would it kill you to fake a little enthusiasm?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Oh my goodness! Wow! So amazing! (Was that enthusiastic enough for you?)

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:** **> >** You can’t see it, but I’m rolling my eyes so hard at you right now. Anyway, you know that sexy guy in ad sales with the gorgeous smile? Trip?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I know of him, yes. We’ve never been properly introduced. What did he do that’s got you all twitterpated? Should I get to work planning your bridal shower? I am going to be your maid of honour, aren’t I?

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Duh. Of course. And I’ll be yours. Wait, no, actually I’d rather be your flower girl. I think I’d be awesome at sprinkling the petals all artistically down the aisle.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Don’t get sidetracked. You were going to tell me your meet cute story. I wasn’t completely faking it before, I really do want to hear.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Okay. Well. I was passing him in the hallway on Friday at the end of the day and I was in a good mood because it was almost the weekend and I’d just turned in that story on interconnected cars and Coulson said he loved it. So I was kind of smiling to myself and then I looked up right as Trip was passing and I guess he thought I was smiling at him and he smiled back.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** He smiled at you? That was it? I think we may want to hold off on the bridal shower plans for a bit.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Oh no, that wasn’t it. He also spoke. Do you want to know what he said?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I’m on the edge of my seat.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** He said: “Hey, girl.”

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I take it back. Let the bridal shower preparations begin!

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** I know you’re joking, but I’ve got a good feeling about this one. And don’t think I didn’t notice you changing the subject when I mentioned your potential future nuptials.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Yes, because I don’t want to talk about it. Milton’s never going to ask me to marry him. And the worst part is, I’m completely fine with that. I know I want to get married someday, but when I think about my wedding, I can’t picture him as the groom.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:** **> >** Sorry to be blunt (you already know how I feel about him, so I might as well) but why the fuck are you still with him then?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:** **> >** I don’t know. To be honest, I guess I’ve been hoping he’ll break up with me so I don’t have to do it. He must be as unhappy as I am, but he never shows it. He’s so bloody agreeable all the time. It’s weird. Like when I ask him what he wants to do for dinner he always says, “Whatever you want.” And then it’s on me to make the decision. What I wouldn’t give for him to say, just once, “You know what? I feel like seafood tonight.”

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** But you don’t like seafood.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Exactly! Then at least we could argue about it.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** You’re saying you actually want to fight with your boyfriend? Shouldn’t that tell you something about the quality of your relationship?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I’m probably not explaining it very well. I’ve got to get back to work now. This interview isn’t going to transcribe itself.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Come on, I didn’t mean it like that. You know I’m only looking out for you, right?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I know. And I appreciate it. But I really do have to get some work done.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Okay, fine. But I’m going to expect some spectacular bridal shower theme ideas by lunchtime.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to count on @libbyweasley and @AgentOfShip for their help, editing, and advice, and they never, ever let me down.

Fitz spent the remainder of his second day going through email after email, until his mind was numb. There were only a few infractions that required warnings — a string of offensive jokes that had been circulating for a while, an exchange of inappropriate comments about a particular employee’s work attire, a link to a video that was literally labeled “not safe for work.” Seriously, how thick did you have to be to forward that? It was like they were trying to get caught. Most of what he read and saw didn’t stick with him. The words went in and out of his brain like sand through a sieve. All except for theirs.

He kept coming back to that first chain of messages between Daisy Johnson and Jemma Simmons. He’d returned to it so often he finally just printed it out and kept it next to his keyboard. Their quick-witted responses to each other read like an entertaining paperback novel, and even though he’d never met them, they came to life on the page. They felt like real people he could be friends with. Especially Jemma.

 _“So bloody agreeable.”_ Those words in particular stood out. Not because they had to do with her boyfriend (he’d rather not think about that at all, or the reasons why he didn’t want to think about it) but because they hinted that she was, in all likelihood, a fellow Brit. She’d also spelled “honour” with a “u,” which he chose to take as further proof of her non-American roots. So it could very well be that they had something in common. Every time he re-read her messages — and he’d done so an embarrassing number of times — the voice in his head had a British accent.

That wasn’t all they had in common, either. Daisy may not have agreed with her definition of “exciting,” but he certainly did. Her description of the science article she was writing sounded fascinating. And the way she talked about it showed an intriguing, fierce intelligence. He found himself wishing they could talk about it together. She was funny, too. He wasn’t sure he could keep up if they ever actually met. The thought alone tied his stomach in knots.

The proper thing to do would be to send them a warning, just as he had for the rest of the messages that ended up in the flagged folder. He knew that. But it wasn’t like they were breaking any major rules. Sure, they weren’t supposed to use company email for personal conversations, but everyone did that and he didn’t see the harm in it. Their exchange had likely only been flagged for profanity. He didn’t know who had programmed the filter, but it could have used some better calibration. It caught a lot of messages that were innocuous, simply because they used the wrong word or phrase.

That was how he justified it to himself that first week. He didn’t send them a warning, and the emails kept coming. And they kept getting flagged, and he kept reading them. Because that was his job. They wrote to each other about work and their love lives and plans for the upcoming weekend. Occasionally Jemma would write about a science article she was working on or an idea she had for a future piece. Those bits were his favorite. She really was quite brilliant. Daisy was just as clever, in her own way. He could see why they were friends. There was never anything in their exchanges that merited an official warning, which only made it easier for him to put off doing it.

He found himself walking around in a sort of daze. He finished work, went to physical therapy, drank beers with Hunter, ordered takeaway and ate it by himself in front of the TV. He brought home the pages he printed out each day and read them before bed. The job wasn’t difficult. He even managed to get out of the basement a few times a day to get a snack from the breakroom, reboot a crashed computer, or walk someone through a software update. The other employees were nice, but too involved in their own work to pay him any mind. Which was fine by him. The only person up there who acknowledged his presence was Bobbi. The one time he passed by her desk she was on the phone, but she smiled and gave him a friendly wave. It was all just a hum in the back of his mind. The anticipation of another email between Jemma and Daisy showing up in the red-flag folder crowded out everything else.

He’d soon collected quite a stack of printouts full of their messages. And while it might have seemed odd to an outside observer, maybe even a tad creepy, he knew it wasn’t like that. It was just some harmless reading. He didn’t intend to act on anything. He didn’t even know what these women looked like. In person he’d probably freeze up anyway.

“So how’s everything going? Settling in okay?” Mack asked Fitz as he was getting ready to leave on the Friday that marked the end of his second week. He leaned his tall frame casually against one cubicle wall. Fitz was surprised it didn’t topple over from the strain of keeping him upright.

He finished zipping up his backpack, stuffed with that day’s email messages from Jemma and Daisy, and tried not to look guilty. “Yeah, good. Fine. How about you?” As soon as he said it, he realized how daft the question sounded. He squinted and made an attempt at a recovery. “I mean, not that . . . um . . . how . . . it’s fine on your end too then? All good?”

His rambling earned a laugh from Mack. Not a mocking one, but a fond one, and for that Fitz was grateful. He appreciated that his new boss didn’t treat him like his friends did sometimes. Of course, he hadn’t known him before, well _before_.

“I just wanted to let you know that you’re doing a great job so far, Turbo.” Fitz had earned the nickname on his first day, after stuttering his way through a question about the location of the upstairs toilets. “I know Coulson’s pleased. In fact, he’s making permanent email monitoring official company policy.”

This was the last thing Fitz wanted to hear. He’d hoped this part of the job was just a temporary assignment, that they’d eventually see how pointless it was and give him something meaningful to work on. But it didn’t look that way.

“Fantastic.” Fitz tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but based on the look Mack gave him, it came across all the same.

“Look, I know it’s not the most challenging or exciting thing. And to be honest, it’s not what I hoped to have you doing when I brought you on. Bobbi said you’re some kind of engineering genius and our security systems need some serious upgrading. But for now, this is where I need you.”

“I understand.” He did understand. That didn’t mean he liked it.

“Oh, and just so you know, Coulson sent out a memo this afternoon announcing the new email policy. So if I were you, I’d keep a low profile and be ready for a barrage of flagged messages on Monday. The worker bees will be buzzing.”

Friday night was date night for Hunter and Bobbi, so Fitz had the flat all to himself when he got home. He heated up a frozen dinner in the microwave and headed to his room with his backpack full of email printouts. There were still a few he hadn’t gotten a chance to read at work, and he’d been looking forward to it all the way home.

 **From:** Daisy Johnson  
**To:** Jemma Simmons  
**Sent:** Friday, 10/02/2015 4:09 PM  
**Subject:** Privacy Schmivacy

Did you see the memo Coulson sent out?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Yes! Everyone’s talking about it. Do you really think they’re monitoring our email messages?

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Wouldn’t surprise me. That’s the way of the world now. Trust me, there’s no such thing as privacy anymore.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Do you think they’re reading these emails right now?

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** They can’t possibly monitor all the web traffic that goes through this place, so my guess is they’ve set up filters to flag certain questionable words and phrases. You know, like “sex,” “pornography,” “2nd amendment solution,” “nazis are awesome,” or possibly “fair compensation for digital journalists.” And now that I’ve typed all that out, yeah. They’re probably reading this. Ugh. Why don’t we text each other like normal people again?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I have a reason, but I don’t want to tell you. I know how it’s going to sound.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Oh, now you have to tell. Out with it.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I think Milton checks my phone. One time I came out of the shower and it was on the nightstand when I know I left it in my bag. And I got a call the other day from my mother asking why I hadn’t been answering her texts and I realised it was because I wasn’t seeing any new message notices. So either my phone is acting up or someone’s getting to them before me.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Okay, first of all, as a former hacker and current technology reporter, you need to password protect that shit. Lock it down.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Milton would say it’s a sign I don’t trust him. And I can hear you sighing from the other end of the newsroom.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** You obviously don’t trust him. You shouldn’t. And second, I gotta say, I’m not sure what the best friend protocol is here. Do I let that slide and be supportive of your choices or do I say for the millionth time you need to get yourself out of that situation?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** You just said we can’t have any reasonable expectation of privacy in this day and age. So you’re fine with our place of employment spying on us, but not my boyfriend?

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** I’m not “fine” with either. But at least here they gave us fair warning.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Let’s change the subject. How are things with Trip? Any more romantic 10-second hallway encounters to report?

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** You didn’t hear? He quit yesterday. Got offered a better job for more pay at an actual newspaper on the other side of the country. Didn’t even give notice. Just delivered his resignation, dropped the mic, and walked out. That’s how I want to go. Except I’ll probably be way less cool about it.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Oh, I didn’t know. I’m sorry. For you, not for him. Sounds like a great opportunity.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** It was. I’m truly happy for him. And a little envious that he actually made it out of here alive. But that’s old news. I have my eye on someone else now. You know Lincoln Campbell from the Health and Safety desk? He’s helping me out with a story about the Internet of DNA. He’s super nice.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Yes, I’ve collaborated with him a few times myself. There’s lots of overlap between science and health. He’s rather good looking, and not unintelligent. Did you know he went to medical school? I wonder why he’s working here instead of at a hospital or something.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Down girl, I saw him first. I know that “not unintelligent” coming from you is like the highest of compliments.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Relax. I’m not interested in Lincoln.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Yeah, I know. Because you have a boyfriend.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** No, because there’s someone else here I might fancy.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** WAIT. Did I just read that correctly? Did you actually admit to being interested in someone else? Like romantically?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Not that I’d ever do anything about it. Because of the aforementioned boyfriend. But a little fantasy never hurt, right?

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Who are you and what have you done with Jemma Simmons?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Well if you’re going to make a big deal out of it I’m not going to tell you.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** I won’t. Promise! Tell me all about this mystery man that’s caught your attention. Or is it a woman? Spill! Or I’ll tell everyone on the editorial staff that you color code your notebooks. “B is for blue is for biology notes.”

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>> **You wouldn’t dare! And besides, what’s wrong with keeping a tidy organisation system? I’m sure they’d understand the logic in it if I explained properly.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>> **Do you really want to take that chance?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Alright. Fine. I don’t know his name (it is a him). I think he might be new here. I’ve seen him around the building a few times now, but I can’t figure out what department he’s in. He’s very cute in a doesn’t-know-he’s-cute sort of way. Sandy, sort of curly, hair, not too tall. You’d remember if you’d seen him.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** How is there a new cute guy around here I don’t know about? I thought I had them all on my radar.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Management just went through a hiring spree. I bet he’s one of the new ones.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Look, I don’t know what’s up with this guy, but I think your interest is a sign. This is more than just a fantasy, isn’t it?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I didn’t want to tell you this because I know how mad it sounds, but I’m going to anyway because I have to tell someone or I’ll positively burst.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Um, hello???? Where did you go? You can’t just leave me hanging like that!

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Sorry, had a meeting.

Okay, so, you know how I said that when I pictured my wedding I couldn’t imagine Milton being the one I married? Well, when I saw this guy, I could imagine it. I could see it so clearly, maybe not him but someone like him, waiting for me at the end of the aisle. Or me waiting for him. Isn’t that bizarre? We’ve never even officially met. You can laugh now.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** I’m not laughing. It sounds really romantic, actually. Which is not like you at all. You know what this means, right? You know what you have to do?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I have to break up with Milton

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** And I didn’t even have to say it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to the always wonderful @libbyweasley and @AgentOfShip for their help and encouragement. This wouldn't be nearly as fun without them!

Fitz thought about the last email between Jemma and Daisy for the entire weekend. He was still thinking about it on Monday morning when he got to work. And he still wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Jemma was going to break up with her boyfriend. That was a good thing, objectively. He didn’t like the way she described Milton in her emails. He had to side with Daisy on that one. He told himself that, just like Daisy, he only had Jemma’s best interests in mind. Ending the relationship was the right and healthy thing to do. He was proud of her for it.

Yet he had to wonder whether his feelings about her decision might not be totally selfless. Which was ridiculous. So she’d be single, no big deal. It didn’t change anything. And she probably wouldn’t be for long anyway. She was only breaking up with Milton because she was interested in some guy in the office. Probably one of the marketing guys. They were always so smooth, even if they didn’t come off as smooth. He knew the type. He hadn’t spent much time on the upper floors, but he’d been around enough to notice that there were plenty of those types up there.

Then there was the whole issue of why he should care about what Jemma did at all. They weren’t friends, hadn’t even met. He wouldn’t know her if they passed on the street. Yet he felt like he did know her, through her words. He felt close to her, and Daisy too, in a way he couldn’t explain. Jemma was kind to her friend, and witty and sweet and quite possibly a certified genius. And Milton didn’t deserve her. He knew that much for certain. Although, was he himself any better? After all, he was invading her privacy too.

Over the course of the week, Daisy and Jemma continued to communicate, and thanks to Daisy’s liberal use of profanity, their emails almost always ended up in his folder. As he got to know them better, and like them even more, a constant battle between his head and his heart raged. Even if he did admit things he wasn’t ready to admit, what could he do about it? How would he explain himself if he ever met them face to face? He couldn’t tell Jemma he’d been snooping on her email all this time. There would always be this secret between them. It was somehow acceptable (although it really wasn’t) as long as he was merely reading from a distance, not getting involved in their lives in any physical way. To initiate contact with either one of them, even as a friend, would leave him with no justification for his actions. It would be crossing the line. Or perhaps, if he’d already crossed it, making it so he could never go back.

There was another option, of course. He could just stop. Delete all of their messages as soon as they came in, without reading them. That would be the sensible course of action. He should move on with his life, make the best of his current situation, and focus on getting better. But then what? His life stretched before him endlessly, but seemed so empty. Had he always felt this way? Or was this a recent development? These questions were dangerous. The answers even more so.

All of these thoughts swirling round and round in his mind came to an abrupt halt on Thursday afternoon when a familiar, friendly, and quite loud voice rumbled the walls of his cubicle.

“Leopold Fitz!” It was Bobbi, stepping into the opening to his cubicle, hands on her hips, blocking his view of the office beyond. He hadn’t seen much of her or Hunter for the past week or so. It seemed they were deep into the hot and heavy phase of their relationship. He was happy for them, of course, but wasn’t looking forward to picking up the pieces when they moved onto the next inevitable phase of the cycle.

“Hi Bobbi,” he said.

“How is that you’ve worked here for almost three weeks and we haven’t had lunch yet?”

The truth was that every time he’d passed by her desk she looked exasperated, busy, or both, but he kept that to himself.

Mack, drawn in by Bobbi’s super-sized presence, came over to join them. Fitz’s small workspace suddenly felt very crowded. “Barbara! Hey! Good to see you.”

Fitz’s eyebrows rose. Was that another one of Mack’s nicknames, or had he just revealed Bobbi’s most closely guarded secret? By the friendly warning hiding in her smile, Fitz guessed it was the latter. Which would be quite a tidbit. Even Hunter hadn’t been able to pry her real, full name out of her.

“ _Alphonso_.”

Mack held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. _Bobbi_. What brings you down to the glamorous bowels of the IT department?”

“Just checking in on the new hire. How’s it going?”

“Your man here’s been doing a fine job. Thanks for the recommendation.”

“I’m not her—” Fitz protested from his chair, but his words didn’t reach a high enough altitude to get their attention.

“What can I say? I know all the best people.”

“That you do.”

“And I thought I might coax him away from his desk for lunch. If you can spare him.”

“Okay, but if you go out for martinis . . .,” he prompted.

“Hold the olives,” she finished with a wink.

They laughed together and Fitz felt like a third wheel at his own desk. When the laughter eventually faded, they looked over at him, as if just realizing he was there.

“I brought my lunch today,” Fitz said weakly.

“So did I,” Bobbi countered, leaving no room for argument. “We can eat in the break room.”

Although he’d been up to the break room plenty of times to get a cup of tea or a snack from the vending machines, Fitz felt like an interloper sitting at the table with his brown bag lunch. Bobbi sat across from him with a meticulously assembled bento box she’d brought from home. She poked at the pickled vegetables in one of the little compartments with a pair of chopsticks and looked at him through her long lashes. He sensed an interrogation coming on.

“So how’s it _really_ going down there?”

Fitz opened a can of flavored fizzy water and congratulated himself when he didn’t spill it everywhere. He couldn’t have managed even a simple task like that a few short months ago.

“Mack’s a good boss and I can pretty much come and go as I please. It’s . . . nice to be working again, doing something . . . productive. For a change.”

“Fitz.” He recognized her “cut the bull” tone immediately. Somehow Bobbi could always see right through him. “You don’t have to sugar coat it for me. I know what they’ve got you doing. That can’t be much fun.”

Oh. “Did Hunter tell you?”

“No, I got the memo from Coulson same as everyone else. Wasn’t too hard to figure out who was doing the spying.”

“It’s not spying,” Fitz protested, though a part of him had to agree with her assessment. “The . . . the . . . the filter does all the work. I only see the ones that’ve been flagged.”

That much was true. What he didn’t explain was that the filter was so broad it captured a lot of emails that weren’t problematic at all. The memo had cut down drastically on those, fortunately. A boilerplate warning and reminder of company policy took care of most of the rest. Provided he bothered to actually send it like he was supposed to.

“Whatever you say.” She took a bite of rice and paused, eyes on the open entrance behind Fitz.

He turned around to see who’d just come in. It was a tall blond man and a rather intense-looking young woman with short-cropped hair. He wondered if she might be Jemma or Daisy. He couldn’t know for sure, but he didn’t think so. He just had a sense.

He wondered a lot about them whenever he came upstairs. What did they look like? Where did they sit? Who did they talk to during the day? They could be anyone he passed in the hall. It took all of his willpower not to search for them online. But that would amount to actively seeking them out, which he'd told himself he wouldn't do. He knew he shouldn’t have been thinking of them at all, but no matter how hard he tried to control the thoughts, they popped into his head anyway.

The tall man didn’t have enough change for a bag of chips from the vending machine, so the woman dropped a few coins in the slot for him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her shaking her head and heard her whisper “dumbass” under her breath.

When they were gone, Bobbi continued in a softer voice. “I’d keep it to yourself, what you do here. I would never give you away, but be careful. People talk. This new policy isn’t very popular and I wouldn’t want you to get caught up in the backlash.”

“Not a problem for me. I barely talk to anyone.”

“Still, maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this here. Sorry I brought it up.”

Fitz didn’t want to talk about it anywhere else either. “Then let’s talk about something else. Hunter hasn’t been home in a while. So you two are good?”

Bobbi groaned. “Not exactly. He’s been out of town for work. Remind me why I ever thought his job was cool?”

“Because he’s a bounty hunter and you said it was like dating Boba Fett.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Would be cooler if he had a jet pack, though. Just sayin’.” Fitz smiled and took a bite of his sandwich. Bobbi gave him a courtesy smile in return, then went back to frowning.

“That was then. All I do now is worry about him.”

“Me too. I think that’s why he doesn’t tell me when he goes away.”

Bobbi sighed. “Of all the guys I could fall for it _had_ to be the most reckless, hotheaded idiot I’ve ever met. You’re lucky you’re single.”

Fitz didn’t know what would come out if he tried to speak, so he silently nodded and left it at that.

 **From:** Jemma Simmons  
**To:** Daisy Johnson  
**Sent:** Friday, 10/09/2015 10:10 AM  
**Subject:** The Museum of Broken Relationships

Did you know there is not one but two entire museums dedicated to broken relationships? One in Zagreb and one in Los Angeles. Which, in and of itself, is kind of weird when you think about it. Could two places be any more different? But I guess that just goes to show you that the experience of breaking up is a universal one. The museums are filled with possessions and mementos anonymously donated by real people who’ve had their heart broken in one way or another. Each item is reverently displayed along with the story of its significance to the relationship that ended. Some people might find that maudlin, but I think it’s kind of lovely.

While you may be thinking this is all a prelude to the news that I’ve finally broken up with Milton, I regret to inform you that it hasn’t happened yet. You were going to ask, weren’t you? I could practically see the question written on your lips this morning in the editorial meeting. Thank you for resisting the urge.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Very perceptive. You’re right, I was totally going to ask. But now I have a different question. What’s the fucking holdup? You’re not reconsidering are you?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** He left for a conference this morning before I had a chance to do it, so I’m waiting until he gets back. Hopefully I won’t lose my nerve. I don’t think I will. I was thinking about that museum and what I’d have to donate from our relationship and I realized that I would have nothing. There isn’t anything of substance that we share, other than the flat. If he left tomorrow (or I did) I wouldn’t find myself staring at his coffee mug, crying over it. Or smashing it. I wouldn’t feel any particular way about it at all. Which says something, obviously, but nothing I didn’t already know.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** I trust you’ll do the right thing when the time comes. But oh, I feel bad sharing my news now.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Don’t! Is it good news? That would be a nice distraction, actually.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** I think it’s good. Lincoln and I hooked up!

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Wow! Good for you. At least one of us is getting some.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** We just kissed. In the copy room. Didn’t go any further (yet).

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Ah, only the most romantic place in the entire building. Now you must tell me everything. Leave no details out, please. I’m living vicariously.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** I was in there yesterday trying to fix a paper jam when he came in and saw me struggling with the damn drawer. I was on the floor, so he squatted down next to me -- which is a long way to go for him, he’s really tall -- to help get the paper out. And when we both reached in at the same time he grabbed my hand and gave me this look and the next thing I know we’re kissing on the floor of the copy room. Not going to lie, it was hot as hell.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I’m fanning myself just reading about it. Milton and I haven’t been like that in ages. The last time we had sex was a month ago. I know because it was my birthday, and the time before that was Labor (as you lot spell it) Day weekend. Apparently, he can only achieve an erection on special occasions anymore. Sorry, I’m making this all about me when you've got this new, exciting relationship on the horizon. I’m really happy for you. And for Lincoln too.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Thanks. I’m excited to see where this goes. He’s taking me out to dinner this weekend.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Somewhere fancy, I hope! You deserve it.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** I don’t care where we go. We could have a candle-lit dinner in the break room for all I care. I just want to spend time with him.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** That’s sweet. And speaking of the break room, I almost forgot! Update on my Cute Guy! I saw him yesterday in said break room! And apparently I can’t stop! Using! Exclamation points!

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Hey, a Cute Guy sighting is always worth exclamation points! Do tell!

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I went to get a cup of tea and he was in there eating lunch with Bobbi. His back was to the door, so I don’t think he noticed me, but I heard him speak. With a Scottish accent! And he made a Star Wars reference. So not only is he cute, but Scottish and nerdy too. Swoon.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Lunching with Bobbi, huh? Someone moves fast. Gotta give him credit for good taste, though. Do you think they’re together?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** They seemed close, but I didn’t get that impression. I think they were talking about her boyfriend. Who, apparently, is a real life bounty hunter!?!? I mean, I’ve seen them on TV and in films but you never think about actually knowing someone who does that for a living. Or maybe his name is Hunter. That part wasn't clear. But Cute Guy said he worried about him, which I thought was sweet.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Oh, that’s right. Hunter. You’ve actually met him. Don’t you remember? Christmas party last year. He’s British, like you. Tall, light brown hair, nice facial hair. Looks like he belongs in a Guy Ritchie movie. The two of them have been off and on for ages.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I do recall a man by that description hanging out with Bobbi.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** So, are you gonna go for it with your Cute Guy once you’re a free agent?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I don’t know. I thought I heard Bobbi say he was single. But I’ve been with Milton so long I’ve forgotten how to flirt. I think I just need to take some time for myself and find out who I am without him. I’m not ready to jump into anything new.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** That sounds sensible. And boring. And so very you.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** You know me too well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I must thank the lovely and talented @libbyweasley and @agentofship for their support and for making this better!

No. 

No, no, no. 

Bloody hell.

Fitz pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up to pace the tiny square footage of his cubicle, running his hands through his hair as he spun around in circles.

He couldn’t have read what he’d just read. Jemma had been there in the break room while he and Bobbi were eating lunch and had overheard their conversation. She’d been very specific in her description. There was no one else it could have been. Which meant . . . 

He sat back down at his desk to read the email again. Yep. He’d read it correctly.

 _He_ was the one she called “Cute Guy.” _Her_ Cute Guy. She’d been talking about him all this time. Not some stupid marketing guy. If it wasn’t there in black and white he never would have believed it. She’d noticed him, hadn’t just noticed him but _fancied_ him. She’d definitely used that word.

Fitz felt like he was going to pass out.

This was a complication, to say the least. He could deal with whatever feelings he’d been having about this abstract person whose words he’d read and re-read, as long as he kept his distance. But this made it real, made _her_ real, in a whole new way. They’d shared the same space for a few minutes, and he hadn’t even noticed. Why did he have to sit with his back to the blasted door? Why couldn’t he have just turned around at the right moment? Then their eyes would have met and . . . then what? He couldn’t imagine anything after that. But at least he’d know what she looked like. Not that it mattered to him in the slightest. It was her mind he was attracted to, after all.

And there it was. The confession he’d been avoiding this whole time. He had more than a platonic interest in Jemma Simmons. He couldn’t deny it any longer. Maybe she wouldn’t turn out to be as perfect as she seemed, but from what he’d read, she was everything he’d ever wanted in a romantic partner. If he found a way to talk to her, maybe ask her out for tea, she might even say yes. He knew they’d get on. They could talk science and culture and _Star Wars_ together and he’d never, ever get bored. There was only one problem. And it wasn’t a small one.

She could never know he’d been reading her email. She’d think he was as bad as Milton, and she wouldn’t be entirely wrong (although if she were his — if he could actually talk to her every day — he’d never, ever read anything that wasn’t addressed to him again for the rest of his life). So, he’d have to keep the secret. And the longer he kept it, the worse it would be if — when — it eventually came out. And then he’d lose her for good. No, he couldn’t risk it. Whatever their relationship could have been, it was over before it even began.

So he was stuck. The messages Jemma exchanged with Daisy were all he would ever have of her. That would have to be enough. 

Fitz left work that Friday in a bitter mood, the usual folder of printed emails in his backpack weighing him down like a stack of bricks. When he got home he found Hunter in front of the TV watching a football match, as if he’d never left. In the fridge there was a brand new six-pack of exotic beer, minus the bottle Hunter was currently drinking from. Fitz took one for himself and didn’t ask where they came from.

There was something else he wanted to ask, if he could just figure out how to word it. What was it Daisy had written?

_”Hunter. You’ve actually met him. Don’t you remember? Christmas party last year.”_

Hunter didn’t particularly support either of the teams playing on TV, so it wasn’t too hard to engage him in conversation. Fitz started with small talk about the game and the flat and their neighbors, edging toward the subject he really wanted to broach. 

After a while, he casually threw out, “Hey, you ever meet any of Bobbi’s work friends?”

“Uh, sure,” Hunter said absently, his attention caught by an offence resulting in a penalty kick. “Met a few at the Christmas do last year. They all kind of blend together after a while.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just wondering what you thought of them. Did anyone . . . you know, stand out or anything?”

“Are we talking co-workers of the female variety?”

Fitz shifted in his seat, not wanting to give too much away. “Not . . . not especially.”

“Eh, they’re basically just a bunch of glorified bloggers and marketing wankers. Thought you had one foot out the door anyway. Don’t tell me you’re actually getting attached.”

“No, I’m not,” he lied. “But they’re not what you think. They’re proper, professional journalists and all. Just . . . just . . . just because it’s a website doesn’t mean they don’t work as hard as newspaper reporters. Probably harder, uh, because they have to earn the respect of the traditional media.”

Fitz was merely repeating the arguments he read from both Jemma and Daisy whenever they’d had a run-in with someone who shared Hunter’s dismissive attitude. It was surprisingly, and unfortunately, common. He felt compelled to jump to their defense.

“Alright. Take it easy. Didn’t mean anything by it. Sounds like someone’s already drunk the Kool-Aid.”

“Forget it,” Fitz said, downing what was left of his beer. He wasn’t getting anywhere with this line of questioning. It was too vague. But he couldn’t be any more specific or Hunter would definitely catch on.

“Look, a bird’s a bird, mate. I try not to pay too much attention. Bobbi notices when I notice, and that is not a fight I want to start. But if there’s someone there you like, I say go for it.”

Fitz rolled his eyes. He didn’t need the encouragement. He needed someone to tell him how irrational he was being. He clearly wasn’t able to stop himself, maybe it would help to hear someone else say it. He might not listen, but at least he’d have some external moral compass to guide him. His own was completely busted, it seemed.

Fitz stood and said, “I’ll be in my room,” but Hunter had already turned his attention back to the game and barely nodded in response.

After spending the weekend going back and forth between what he wanted to do and what he knew was right, Fitz came in to work on Monday with a plan. 

He would challenge himself to go cold turkey for a day. Just one day. There weren’t many things he had control of in his life, but this could be one of them. If he could go the entire day without reading a single email between Jemma and Daisy, he would know he still had some control over the whole mess. He just had to last for the next eight hours. It was totally doable.

When the first email came in, he promptly deleted it. It wasn’t as hard as he’d expected. The message was from Daisy to Jemma. The subject line read: “My Awesome Weekend.” He allowed himself a moment to be happy for her and Lincoln, then moved on with the rest of his work. There were plenty of other messages from other employees to keep him busy. Another one came in not long after from Jemma, and he deleted that too. That one was harder. This time, the subject line was: “My Not-So-Awesome Morning.” That sounded unpleasant, but also, in a way, promising. He tried not to hope that it meant she’d finally broken up with Milton. He tried very, very hard. But he couldn’t manage it. Still, into the trash it went. The day continued to go according to plan.

When lunchtime came around, he decided to eat in the break room again. He went by himself, since Bobbi was in a meeting. Now that he’d done it once, it wasn’t so strange. Better to eat there than in his sad, grey-walled cubicle. He hadn’t bothered to bring anything from home to decorate it yet. That somehow made the job feel more permanent than he wanted it to be. Meanwhile, the break room had white walls and bright lighting and hot water for tea. There didn’t have to be any more reason than that. If he decided to sit facing the door this time, it was only because the chair was more comfy on that side of the table.

He finished his sandwich, a banana, and a packet of crisps without any interruptions. But just as he was crushing his brown bag into a ball and not allowing himself to be disappointed, a woman walked in carrying a Doctor Who mug. She headed straight for the water cooler, glanced at him once, then turned quickly away and focused on filling her mug with hot water. It wasn’t more than a moment, but enough for him to observe that she had kind, warm brown eyes. She was quite pretty, in a classical sense. Her hair was a lovely chestnut brown and fell in gentle waves around her shoulders. She gave him only the smallest hint of a smile, which was fortunate, he supposed, because he had a feeling a real one would be blinding. Having no excuse to linger, he threw away his rubbish and left.

By the time he returned to his desk, his heart was pounding. Could that have been Jemma he’d just seen? She’d come to the break room for tea at the same time on Friday. Did she go back today hoping to see him again? If he were forced to put together a mental picture of what he thought she looked like, the pretty girl in the break room certainly fit the bill. Maybe that was wishful thinking on his part. Maybe it was a coincidence. It could have been anyone. He’d told himself he didn’t care about her looks, and that was absolutely true, but good god. If that really was Jemma, he was in far more trouble than he thought. It wasn’t fair. No one could be that beautiful inside and out. And if such a person existed, she couldn’t possibly be interested in him. No way. He could never be with her in any real sense anyway. He was cursed.

It took all his willpower and determination to stick to the plan that afternoon, but he did it. He deleted every email between Jemma and Daisy that came in for the rest of the day. He didn’t even look at the subject lines. It helped that Mack pulled him from email duty to deal with a virus someone had unleashed on the system after downloading a bunch of video files from a porn site. He welcomed the distraction, not only because it was a break from the usual surveillance, but also because it gave him a chance to show what he could really do. He made short work of the virus and spent the rest of the day inoculating the system from similar threats. By the time he finished it was nearly six o’clock and he hadn’t thought about the email folder for hours.

He was packing up his things, looking forward to going home and putting the day behind him, when Mack appeared over his cubicle wall.

“Hey, Turbo. How would you feel about putting in a little overtime tonight? I could really use the help. It’s been a hell of a day.”

“Everything okay?” Mack seemed a little on edge, which was unusual for him, at least as far as Fitz knew.

“Yeah. Nothing you need to worry about. I’d stay myself, except my girlfriend has an art show tonight and I promised I’d be there to support her.”

“No problem. What do you need me to do?”

Fitz had hoped that his performance that afternoon would lead to something a bit more challenging than babysitting the servers until the night shift arrived, but that was what Mack needed. So that was what he did. He was a team player, after all. At least it didn’t involve email.

The office was a lot quieter with most of the staff gone for the day. The servers didn’t need much attention. Fitz had fixed the problem that afternoon, rebooted everything, and built a new firewall so solid nothing could get through. But Mack wasn’t taking any chances, and Fitz didn’t blame him. The entire website was stored on those servers, and it was his job to keep them secure. The night shift didn’t come in until nine, so he had a few hours to kill and not much to keep him busy. He played games on his phone, texted with Hunter for a bit, had a burger and chips delivered for dinner, ate them at his desk, and didn’t check the red-flag folder once, though he very badly wanted to.

It was around 8:00 p.m. that curiosity and boredom finally got the best of him. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself on the second floor. At night it was almost as gloomy as the basement. There were a few staff members still working by the pale light of their desk lamps, filing late-breaking stories or preparing features to go live the next morning. He wondered if he would recognize her desk on sight. It became a sort of game of elimination, ruling out the ones that were obviously not hers. Finally, he came to a cubicle at the end of a row. It had a south-facing window that looked out onto the building’s courtyard. It was probably a nice spot during the day, when the light came in just right.

The first thing he noticed was a little Union Jack sticking out of a glass beaker filled with colored pens. On the wall above the computer monitor there was a sign in whimsical script that read: “A tidy desk is a happy desk.” True to the sign, everything was bright and neatly organized, from the color-coded post-its to the magnetized holder filled with paper clips. In the corner by the window was a little green plant, and in front of it he spotted a Doctor Who mug, the same one he’d seen the girl in the break room holding earlier. So this was her desk. Did that mean the girl really was Jemma?

There were no pictures of her anywhere, but this had to be her space. He could see and feel her everywhere in it. He tried to imagine her sitting in her chair, doing research and writing fascinating articles about science, perhaps reading a funny message from Daisy and laughing as she typed her response. Did she laugh softly to herself, or could her neighbors hear it a few cubicles away? Did they all chat about their days as they worked? Was she as witty in conversation as she was on paper?

He took in a deep breath. There was a faint hint of vanilla in the air. Suddenly, everything became too personal for comfort. Overwhelmed and ashamed, he fled back to the basement without looking back.

When he returned to his desk, he still didn’t check the folder. He’d lasted the entire day without reading any of their emails, but did that make up for all the time he spent thinking about her? Did it make up for snooping at her desk? He was too far gone to care.

The next morning he opened up the folder and started reading again. He didn’t delete anything. 

**From:** Jemma Simmons  
**To:** Daisy Johnson  
**Sent:** Tuesday, 10/13/2015 9:12 AM  
**Subject:** How Are You Doing?

Obviously not very well, since I just saw you crying at your desk. Tell me how I can help. I’m here if you need to talk. 

**< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** It’s hard to talk about. There’s more to the story than everyone knows. 

**< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** You want to get some coffee/tea?

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** I could really use something stronger, but that’ll do for now.

**From:** Daisy Johnson  
**To:** Jemma Simmons  
**Sent:** Tuesday, 10/13/2015 9:48 AM  
**Subject:** Thank You

I really appreciate the chat. Sorry to unload all that on you, but I feel much better now. And I just now realized that I didn’t even ask you about how it went with Milton. So? Are you two finally, officially done-zo or what?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** We are. I told him last night. After our fight yesterday morning I don’t think he was surprised. He didn’t even bother to unpack from his trip. The lease is in my name, so I get to keep the flat. He can stay with his mates. Or at a hotel. Or in a bedroll on the street for all I care. It’s not my problem anymore. 

**< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Good for you! How did he take it?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Surprisingly well. I said it wasn’t working anymore and he agreed (of course!) and we decided to end it, just like that. We both knew this was coming. Which made me even more angry with him because I think he was just waiting for me to do it. But then I was basically doing the same thing, so maybe I’m being hypocritical. Anyway, it’s over and I’m glad for it.

But I feel weird talking about this after everything that happened. Are you sure you’re okay?

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** No, but I will be. Eventually. I guess. I should just confess that it was all my stupid idea to download those videos onto Ward’s computer. Lincoln didn’t even want to, but I roped him into it. To get back at my fucking ex-boyfriend. And then he took all the blame to protect me. And now he’s gone and it’s all my fault. Although Ward’s gone too, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I heard Ward was working for another site this whole time and stealing all our leads? Is that true?

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Yep, it’s true. And they never would have found out if we hadn’t hacked into his computer. They should have given Lincoln a raise or a fucking promotion instead of firing him. (Did you get that, email surveillance person? It wasn’t Lincoln’s fault. It was all me! Pass it on. Tell HR!) 

**< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** That’s not funny. I know you feel bad, but please think very carefully before you do anything rash. The damage is already done. They’re not going to give Lincoln his job back, and you’ll end up fired too. It can only make things worse.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** UGH. Why do I have such horrible luck with guys? What’s wrong with me?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** You might consider expanding your dating pool outside of this place. Just a suggestion. But seriously, there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all! You’re amazing. Are you still going to try and make it work with Lincoln or is it over between you two?

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** I don’t know. We’re supposed to meet up on Thursday night to talk about it. I’m not sure I can face him, though. We’ll see. But I could still go for a few drinks tonight. And it sounds like you could too. Come out with me after work?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Okay. Can we go straight from here? Milton will be at the flat cleaning out his things and I’d rather not be there for that. 

**< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Absolutely. How about that wine bar on 6th? 

**< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Perfect.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with all the other chapters of this, the wonderful @libbyweasley and @AgentOfShip helped make this better and kept me sane. I will never stop thanking them!

“Hi, I’m Leo Fitz.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Fitz.”

“Don’t you work at The Shield? Thought so, yeah. I work there too.”

“Leopold Fitz, I.T.”

“This may sound crazy, but I’ve been reading your email for a few weeks now and I think I might be falling in love with you, even though we’ve never met. So would you maybe want to get a drink or a cup of tea or something with me sometime?”

Fitz shook his head and let out a deep sigh. It was hopeless. He appraised himself in the mirror, but he couldn’t see what she saw. Certainly nothing he would have described as “cute.” Even with the blue button down that Bobbi had told him brought out his eyes and grown-up dress slacks, he still looked like the same plain old Fitz. A right idiot.

This was probably the worst idea he’d ever had. He knew where they would be tonight — the wine bar on 6th. It wasn’t far from his flat. Plus, it was a public place, away from the office, the perfect chance to observe from a distance. After the email messages he’d read he was concerned for Daisy. Jemma too. Ending things with Milton was objectively the healthy choice, but break-ups were never easy. He just wanted to make sure they were okay. That was all. He didn’t intend to approach them directly, but if Jemma happened to notice him and make the first move, he wouldn’t run away. He’d just play it cool. Let her do the talking. Daisy would probably scrutinize him to determine whether he was good enough for her friend, but he didn’t mind. That was her right. Hopefully he’d measure up. And if he didn’t, well, he could hardly argue with that assessment. 

It was a terrible, awful, utterly daft idea. 

He was going to do it anyway.

The bar hadn’t been open long, and the novelty of it drew a bigger than usual crowd for a Tuesday night. Though he’d made an effort to dress up, Fitz still felt out of place amongst the stylish, well-to-do crowd. If his mother could only see him now. She was always hounding him about being more social, getting out of the house, making friends. It had only gotten worse after the accident. And now here he was, in a hip new _wine bar_ , blending in as best he could with all these young professionals. Too bad he couldn’t muster the slightest bit of interest in any of them. The feeling was apparently mutual. No one paid him any mind as he slipped through the crowd. It was just as well, since he wasn’t there to mingle anyway. He apologized silently to his mum as he took a seat at the bar.

He spotted her right away. She was seated at the opposite end of the U-shaped bar, so he could see her clearly as she sipped on a glass of red wine. The lights were low, but the flickering candles on the bar lit up her face with a golden glow. He’d thought she was pretty when he first saw her in the break room, but in this light she was radiant, an ethereal beauty. How was it possible to be this lucky and this cursed at the same time? Next to her, a young woman he guessed must be Daisy was talking animatedly. She had short, black hair and a wry smile. He thought he might have seen her around the office, but he couldn’t have said exactly when or where. 

Their heads were bowed together as they strained to hear each other over the jangly guitar music and constant buzz of conversation around them. There were flashes of laughter and moments when he thought one or both of them would burst into tears. Trying not to look like he was staring, he ordered a glass of moderately priced pinot from the bartender, a friendly blonde who introduced herself as Christine. Maybe his mum was right. Maybe he should get out more. Everyone there seemed to be having a good time. They probably had friends and social lives and good jobs and their hands never shook and they could probably find the right words when they needed them. He wasn’t ready for a scene like this yet, but he could be. Someday. If he had the right person beside him.

After a while, Christine set down a pair of shots in front of Jemma and Daisy. Then she took a lighter and and lit them on fire. At their puzzled looks, she pointed to a guy in a leather jacket a few seats away, who toasted them with his own flaming shot. He covered the glass with his palm, dousing the flame, and threw it back in one gulp. The guy was dark and handsome, definitely the brooding type some girls went mad for. He hoped Jemma wasn’t one of them. Fitz could never pull off a move like that. Jemma and Daisy toasted him back and shrugged at each other before copying his move and downing their own drinks.

The guy took their smiles as an invitation to sidle up right next to Daisy. He said something in her ear and she laughed. Based on their body language, it was Daisy who’d caught his eye. Jemma didn’t seem to mind, and went back to sipping her wine while the two of them flirted shamelessly. Fitz watched her from across the bar and silently willed her to turn her attention toward him.

_Look up._

_Look here._

_Please look._

But she didn’t. And he couldn’t bring himself to go over there. He just couldn’t. He was only supposed to be here to watch. That was bad enough. He should leave. Jemma and Daisy were both fine. There was no reason to stay. No sane reason, at least. 

He flagged down the bartender and asked for his bill. 

“Lost your nerve, huh?” she said as she slid a black check folder towards Fitz. 

“Sorry, what?” 

“You’ve been watching those two all night.” She nodded her head across the bar toward Jemma and Daisy. “Now you’re heading home alone. Seems like you’re throwing in the towel a little early.”

Fitz took out his wallet and counted out enough cash for the wine and a decent tip.

“It’s complicated,” he told her. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Believe me, I’ve heard it all.”

Fitz scoffed. “Not this.” 

She leaned against the bar, crossed her arms, and leveled him with a challenging look. “Try me.”

Whether it was due to the alcohol or his disappointment, or the potent combination of both, he found himself opening up to her in a way he couldn’t with his friends. The fact that she was a stranger didn’t hurt. He told her the whole story as best he could, in fits and starts, skimming over the parts that made him sound like a creep, but not leaving them out entirely. Mid-way through she poured him another glass of wine on the house, which helped loosen him up even further. The words flowed better after that.

“That’s quite a story,” she said, after he’d caught her up to the point of their last email exchange and the reason he’d come to the bar that night.

“You can say it. I’m a horrible person.” He lowered his head until it was practically resting on the bar.

“I wasn’t going to say that.” Surprised, he looked up and found nothing but kindness in her eyes. “It’s a horrible job, but you didn’t know what it involved when you took it.”

“No, but I shouldn’t have kept reading after that first time. That’s on me.”

“Yeah, that part is. So just stop doing it.”

“If I did, do you think she’d forgive me? Would you be able to?”

“I don’t know her, so I couldn’t say. I’ve forgiven my boyfriend for much worse, but I think there would have to be a lot of groveling involved. It’s kinda romantic, actually, you falling for her even before you knew what she looked like. I think most women would appreciate that.” 

Fitz nodded and gave her a grateful smile. Their talk had made him feel brave, or maybe it was the wine. Either way, perhaps the situation wasn’t as hopeless as he thought. He’d just explain himself to her and beg her forgiveness and— 

Oh. When he looked over to find Jemma, she was gone. The only sign she and Daisy had been there were their empty glasses on the bar. He’d gotten so wrapped up in talking to the bartender he’d completely missed their exit. So much for that plan.

“Thanks for the advice,” he told Christine, dropping a few extra bills on the bar as he got up to leave. “I’ll . . . uh . . . take it under consideration.”

“You do that,” she said with a wink.

As Fitz stepped outside, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was a text from Hunter. “Dodgy takeaway for dinner. Stomach’s a bit dicky. Pick me up some antacid on your way home? Thx mate.”

For an ex-soldier-turned-mercenary, Hunter could be surprisingly delicate sometimes. He responded that he was on his way home and would take care of it. There was a little drug store a few doors down from the bar, so he ducked in to get something for Hunter and a bottle of water for himself. He paid the clerk, then walked home alone, looking forward to crawling into bed and trying not to think about what an arse he’d nearly made of himself.

The next morning he didn’t find any emails between Jemma and Daisy in the folder. It happened sometimes. Their exchanges didn’t always get caught by the filter. The thought occurred to him that he could just read them anyway. His position gave him the authority to look at anyone’s email, regardless of whether it was flagged, in case there were any reported violations that had somehow been missed. 

He thought about what Christine had said. She hadn’t given him permission to continue, exactly. In fact, she’d specifically advised him to stop. But she also seemed to suggest that Jemma might eventually understand if he explained everything to her. And he was terribly curious about how the end of their night had gone.

 **From:** Jemma Simmons  
**To:** Daisy Johnson  
**Sent:** Wednesday, 10/14/2015 10:32 AM  
**Subject:** Have You Seen My Mind?

Because apparently I’ve lost it. I did something absolutely mad last night. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Seriously? I leave you alone in public for five minutes... Do you need help burying the body?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** No humans were injured in the making of this mistake. No collateral damage either, except maybe to my pride.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Hmm. What kind of mistake are we talking here? Felony? Misdemeanor? Thought crime?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Wait, let me back up a bit. You’ll never guess who I saw at the bar last night after you left with what’s-his-name. He was hot, by the way. Pun absolutely intended.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Robbie. His name is Robbie. Nothing happened, in case you were wondering. He drove me home in his vintage black charger. Sweet ride, but I’m not ready for anything more yet. I’m still not sure where I stand with Lincoln. We exchanged numbers and left it at that. You were saying? 

**< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Yes, I was indeed wondering. Thank you for saving me the trouble. I liked Lincoln well enough, but I’m glad you’re keeping your options open. Robbie seemed quite into you. And he doesn’t work here, which is a big mark in his favor. 

**< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** I know what you’re doing. Don’t use my latest potential fling as an excuse to be evasive. Who was at the bar?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Okay, it was him. My Cute Guy. My Cute Scottish Nerd. I saw him talking with the bartender as I was leaving. I don’t want to tell you the rest.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Are you serious? Do NOT leave me hanging.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Alright, but only because I know you won't let this alone until I tell you. I was standing outside, about to text you (because I can do that now!) when he came out of the bar and paused for a moment to check his phone. Then he stopped at a drug store up the block. I might have I followed him in. 

You see? I am not well.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Well well well. (See what I did there?) So you engaged in a little minor stalking. No big deal. You were curious. But now you’ve got me curious too. So then what happened? 

**< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** He was buying some water and a bottle of Pepto Bismol (wow, it feels really personal knowing that) so I grabbed a candy bar from the shelf and stood in line behind him. I must say, he has the loveliest neck. The way his hair curls over the back of it is quite mesmerizing.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Ok, weirdo.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** You think that’s weird? Wait until you hear what I did next. Daisy, I sniffed him. Just leaned into his back and inhaled, rather deeply. So now I know what he smells like (answer: really, really good). And then he left, so I followed him for a few blocks until he turned a corner and I lost him. What is wrong with me?!?! Does being single instantly turn you into a crazy person? Because clearly, I’ve gone round the bend. I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job as my best friend, but perhaps an intervention is in order.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** As your best friend, do me a favor and take a breath. It was a moment of temporary insanity, that’s all. You’re overreacting. It’s only a crush. Believe me, that kind of thing can crowd out all the rational thoughts in your brain. Especially when you’re on the rebound.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Of course, you’re right. I’m blowing this all out of proportion, aren’t I? I’m probably not his type anyway. He seemed really chatty with that attractive bartender. Apparently he likes blondes. First Bobbi, now her. I wouldn’t stand a chance.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Hey, we already established that he wasn’t into Bobbi. She’s in a serious long-term relationship with someone else, remember?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** We established that she wasn’t interested. His interest level is still unclear. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I should take my own advice and stay away from office romances. Did I mention I have an interview with an actual astronaut this afternoon for my piece on the future of manned space missions? I bet he’ll have some great stories about the early days of NASA. That ought to be a nice distraction. 

**< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** For you, maybe. I have my own distractions. Like I still have to file that story I was working on with Lincoln, only now I have to finish it all by myself. I’ll probably be working through lunch. Will you come by and entertain me?

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I’ll do even better. I’ve got a brand new box of gluten-free biscuits we can share.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Oh. Goodie.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, remember this story? Sorry this update has taken so long. I haven't been very inspired to write lately because of, you know, *waves hands around*. Anyway, I seem to have found my motivation again, so hopefully the final chapter isn't too far off. Thanks for sticking with it/me.
> 
> I also want to especially thank the lovely and talented Libby (@libbyweasley) and Sabrina (@AgentOfShip) for their help and support. They make everything better.

If Fitz hadn’t already convinced himself he was cursed, the contents of Jemma and Daisy’s last email exchange would have confirmed it. First the break room, then the store. That was twice now Jemma had been in his immediate proximity and he hadn’t realized it. The closer they came to meeting, the further she seemed to slip away from him. It was maddening. Like waking from a dream, just before you got to the good part. Disappointment on top of disappointment.

He couldn’t keep doing this to himself. He’d pushed the limit of reasonable behavior by following Jemma and Daisy to the bar, but spying on them through their email the next morning was a violation he couldn’t explain or excuse. What was it about her that made him lose all sense of common decency? He felt more guilty than ever (and he was already working on a fairly massive complex). He could no longer tell himself he was only doing what he’d been hired to do. There was nothing in his job description about stalking the company’s employees outside of work.

The worst thing was, if he was being honest, he didn’t entirely regret it. Not after reading what Jemma had written, and reading it a second time to make sure he hadn’t misinterpreted. And then again, because he felt like it. He’d lost track of how many times now. Jemma liked his neck? And his scent? He’d have thought it impossible if it wasn’t all right there in black and white. Others might have found her behavior a little odd, but to him it was an endearing quirk. One more piece of the fascinating puzzle that was Jemma Simmons. Her embarrassment after the fact showed that she knew it was unusual. Besides, who was he to judge? As if he hadn’t himself engaged in behavior that could be considered creepy to any objective observer. It gave him hope, a very dangerous thing in his case.

But the more he thought about it, the more he had to accept that Christine the bartender had been right. He should stop. For real, and for good. Maybe that would help him get over Jemma. Which was what he needed to do. He knew that now. He had to move on, and he couldn’t do that if he kept pouring over her messages, scanning the words for any mention of him. Something had to give, and he couldn’t see any other way out. It might break his heart, but at least Jemma and Daisy didn’t have to get hurt in the process. They never even had to know.

The next day Fitz altered the code of the filter program so that any email messages from Jemma Simmons or Daisy Johnson would automatically be marked safe and hidden from the protocol. He didn’t need the temptation sitting in the folder waiting for him to cave. While he was in there, he overhauled the filter parameters entirely, making them more intuitive and less intrusive. He updated the firewall software too, and beefed up the server security measures. He could be surprisingly productive when he was focused. But no matter how many projects he found to distract himself, the day crawled by slowly. He stayed far away from Jemma’s floor and left the building for lunch. 

During his lunch break, or whenever he didn’t have work in front of him to keep his mind occupied, Fitz’s thoughts inevitably wandered back to Jemma, and often Daisy as well. In a strange way, he missed them. Was it possible to miss someone you’d never met? If you could fall in love from afar, then why not? He wondered what they were doing at any given moment. Daisy had her date with Lincoln that night and she was probably nervous. Jemma was likely writing up her interview with the astronaut she’d interviewed yesterday. He looked forward to reading it, as he did all her articles. That was the one small pleasure he had to allow himself. He could still follow their work and wish them success, even if they didn’t know he was doing it. Putting emotional distance between yourself and someone you cared about didn’t happen overnight.

Thursday came to an uneventful end, and Fitz went home feeling somewhat proud of himself for sticking it out. He assured himself Friday would be easier, and then his feelings would gradually fade in time. That was the plan, at least.

Friday did prove to be easier, if only slightly. Although Jemma was often on his mind, Fitz continued to physically avoid anything that might bring him in proximity to her, or even remind him of her. When Mack mentioned the company’s push to increase server maintenance around the clock, Fitz volunteered to transfer to the night crew on a permanent basis. Mack agreed to reassign him, though he made it clear that data security was now the top priority over monitoring office gossip. Fitz suspected it had something to do with that guy Ward being caught, but he had no way to confirm it without asking.

The weekend offered plenty of diversions, fortunately. Hunter was preparing to go off on another one of his mysterious work trips the following week. No one wanted to talk about it, but it meant Hunter and Bobbi were in the mood to party like there was no tomorrow. Just in case there wasn’t. For two days straight there was a steady stream of friends, video games, pizza, booze, and old recorded football matches on telly.

It was a pleasant weekend, for the most part. The constant buzz of activity kept Fitz from wallowing too much. The only tense moment came on Sunday night, shortly after Mack dropped by with a six-pack of beer and a bag full of tacos to share. He knew Mack and Bobbi went way back, but it was the first time Mack had ever come to their flat. Bobbi must have called everyone in her address book to avoid being alone this weekend. As they settled around the kitchen table and started digging in, Bobbi and Mack talked about work and the changes that were being implemented to prevent any further security breaches. Of course, Hunter took that as his cue to suddenly remember his conversation with Fitz from the week before.

“Say Fitzy, whatever happened with that girl there you liked?”

Fitz froze mid-chew. Bobbi and Mack turned on him in surprise. He could feel his face growing warm, and he was fairly sure he was blushing furiously. Hunter continued sipping his beer, oblivious to the mine field he’d just wandered into. 

“What? No, that was . . . I never said . . . I’m not interested in anyone. At work or otherwise.” Fitz directed his denial at all three of them, then took another bite of his taco. No one was buying it.

“Really?” Hunter prodded. “Because I thought--”

Fitz cut him off before he could finish. “Nope. There’s no one. I’m just . . . focusing on work right now.”

“Is it Simmons?” Bobbi asked, far too perceptive to accept his weak rebuttal. “Just a wild guess, based on how similar you two are. Because if so, I could arrange an introduction. She recently got out of a bad relationship, but that’s all the more reason, I think. She deserves a nice guy like you.”

A part of Fitz wanted to agree with her. He was tempted to tell them everything and see if Bobbi’s offer of an introduction still stood after that. But the rational part of him -- the part he’d promised himself he’d start listening to more often -- told him to keep quiet.

“I said there wasn’t anyone,” he snapped in growing frustration. “Could we please drop the subject? Let’s talk about something else. Oh, I know. What about, rather than scrutinizing my non-existent lovelife, why don’t we talk about what life-threatening mission Hunter is swanning off to this time? That’s what we’re all avoiding, isn’t it? Yeah, because none of us wants to face the reality that every time he leaves he might not come back. So let’s all gang up on Fitz instead, shall we?”

Fitz was out of breath by the end of his speech. He regretted the outburst immediately, but when he looked at the faces around him he didn’t find anger or hurt as he expected. All three of them were smiling, ear to ear. It was confusing, and rather disconcerting.

“What?” he asked them all simultaneously. 

“Fitz,” Hunter said, with more fondness in his voice than Fitz felt he deserved. “I think those are the most words I’ve heard you say in a row since before the accident. Do you realize you got through all that without hesitating or stuttering once?”

Hunter was right. He hadn’t even thought about what he was saying as it was coming out of his mouth. The words had flowed effortlessly. Was that the key to his recovery? Leading with his emotions, not getting stuck in his own head. If so, it was going to be a long, painful road ahead, considering his feelings were exactly what he was trying to avoid most at the moment.

Fitz smiled back at his friends, appreciating their support and understanding now more than ever. They only prodded him because they cared; they had no idea of the mess he’d gotten himself into with Jemma. After that, the conversation pivoted to more neutral topics like sports and the weather. No one brought up Fitz’s romantic interests or Hunter’s impending mission again.

When Fitz reported to work the next evening, Mack was about to leave for the day. He expressed his continuing gratitude that Fitz had willingly offered to take the open night shift spot when no one else had wanted it. Fitz didn’t say that he was the one who was grateful. It allowed him to keep his job while also avoiding the temptation of being in the building at the same time as Jemma. He’d always been more of a night person anyway, and it wasn’t as if he had any social life to speak of. It was a win-win situation for everyone.

The building was quiet and dark after hours, which was a nice change of pace. Fitz busied himself with various coding projects and hardware upgrades as he kept an eye on the servers to make sure they were still secure. He’d been there about an hour when his stomach rumbled, reminding him that it had been too long since he’d last eaten. He hadn’t thought to bring anything from home. Luckily the burger place across the street was open late.

The sky was filled with heavy clouds when he left the building. By the time he’d picked up his order and was heading back to the office to eat at his desk, it was pouring rain. The parking lot glimmered as he jogged toward the entrance, but a movement out of the corner of his eye stopped him before he reached it. There was someone else in the parking lot, sitting in a muddy puddle with her back against the left front tire of a car, head in her hands. Though Fitz couldn’t see her face, he recognized her right away. Throwing caution to the wind, he tucked the paper bag with his food into his coat and headed straight for the car. 

“Hey, um. Are you okay?”

Daisy looked up, startled by the sound of his voice. Her face was wet, and by the look of her red, swollen eyes it wasn’t from the rain. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and shook her head. 

“Do you . . . uh . . . you want me to call someone?”

She shook her head again and braced herself on the ground, moving to stand up. Fitz held out his hand to help her and she took it. It wasn’t until he let go and he saw the red streak on his hand that he realized she was bleeding.

“You’re hurt,” he said, feeling a little stupid for stating the obvious.

“It’s just a cut. I was trying to fix a flat.” She nodded toward the comically deflated tire. “Stupid thing.”

“Oh. Hold on, I think I have--” he dug the bag out his coat, pulled out some napkins, and handed them to her. “Here.”

“Thanks,” she said, pressing the paper into the palm of her hand.

He shifted on his feet, wanting to help but not sure how to proceed without coming off as too forward. After all, to her he was merely a passing stranger. Or maybe not. She had to have noticed his accent, and the fact that he was a dead-on match for Jemma’s description of her crush. 

“I could maybe take a look at the tire. If you want. Not that . . . I’m sure you could do it yourself I just thought you could use some help.”

She considered it for a minute before finally agreeing. He opened the driver’s side door so she could sit inside where it was dry and put his food on the seat next to her. 

“You want something to eat?” he offered, after seeing her eye the bag longingly. “I’ve got plenty.”

“Maybe some fries?” she asked tentatively. “Or chips, as you’d call them.”

“Either way, help yourself,” he said. Then closed the door and went to work. 

Despite his nerves and the rain, he managed to change the tire in short order without any major mishaps. His hand barely shook at all. When he was done he knocked on the driver’s side window and Daisy rolled it down for him.

“You’re good to go,” he said, wiping his hands on his coat somewhat pointlessly. “It’s just a spare, so you shouldn’t drive too far before replacing it. And you’ll want to put some . . . some . . . ah . . . you know . . . something on that cut as soon as you get home.”

She popped a chip in her mouth, smiled, and saluted. “Got it.”

“Is that . . . all? Or was there something else you needed?”

“That should do it. Thank you. For the tire and the food. I was going to drive through someplace on the way home, but now I just want to be there already, have a hot shower, and climb into bed.” She handed him his bag of food through the window, but he returned the container holding what was left of the chips back to her.

“You can take the rest. I’ll . . . uh. . . leave you to it.” She nodded and started to roll up the window, but he put his hand on it before it reached the top. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Much better now, thank you. I can handle it from here.”

He removed his hand and stepped back. “Okay. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

Fitz spent the entire next day arguing with himself. His mind raced with questions about what had happened to Daisy to make her so upset. It was about more than a flat tire, he knew that much. He hoped she’d made it home without any further trouble, but what if she didn’t? Would he ever know? Now that they’d sort of met, he could seek her out and ask directly. But he was still on the night shift, and he doubted she’d be working late again after what had happened last night. 

There was another way to find out, of course. But that was against the rules, the rules he’d made to protect himself. This wasn’t about Jemma, though, or his stubbornly persistent feelings for her. It was about Daisy. Could he make an exception, just this once? It felt wrong, but everything he was doing felt some kind of wrong. It felt worse not knowing if Daisy was going to be okay.

By the time he sat down at his desk to start work that night, he’d made his decision. 

**From:** Daisy Johnson  
**To:** Jemma Simmons  
**Sent:** Tuesday, 10/20/2015 9:32 AM  
**Subject:** I Think I Met Your Cute Guy

No, I don’t just think I did. I know it. Unless there’s more than one cute Scottish nerd who works for The Shield, which I highly doubt. I can see what you see in him. You weren’t wrong. He is cute. Not so much my type (way too nice and not at all broody), but I like him for you. 

**< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Bloody hell, you actually met him? Did you talk to him? Well, you must have if you knew he was Scottish. How did this happen? I’ve been practically staking out the break room with no luck for a week. Tell. Me. Everything. Spare no detail. 

**< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Wow, you seem pretty excited about this, considering you’re about to go on another date with your astronaut. 

**< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** He’s not my astronaut. He works for NASA. He’s America’s astronaut. 

**< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Cute. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying you shouldn’t play the field. God knows I have. You’re newly single. Now’s the time when you absolutely should be putting yourself out there. As someone very wise recently told me, keep your options open. 

**< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Maybe you’re right. Will is nice. And handsome. And dependable. And he can almost keep up with me intellectually. But I don’t know. I’m not ready to commit to anything. After Milton I think I’ve earned the right to play the field a little bit.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Wait, are you actually taking my advice for once? Wow, I’m going to save this email for posterity. This is kind of new for you, but I think it’s good. It’s not like he’s the last man on Earth. (Get it? That was supposed to be an astronaut joke. Haha.)

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Hilarious. But entirely beside the point. I still need to know all about your encounter with My Cute Guy. Please? I’m waiting for edits on a piece for tomorrow and I have nothing else to do.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Okay, but just so you know, there are parts of the story that might make you worry about me. So, before I tell it I want to assure you that I’m fine. I was having a moment and he happened to walk by. Wrong place, wrong time. Or right place, right time, depending on how you look at it. Personally, I was very glad he was there. I’m not sure how he feels about it. It was all very awkward.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** You can’t say something like that and tell me not to worry. That’s not fair. But if you say you’re fine, I believe you. Continue.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Alright, here goes. I was on deadline for a story and had to work late last night, so I had to cancel on Lincoln. Again. That led to an argument over the phone and by the end of it we just sort of mutually decided not to keep rescheduling and put the whole thing on hold indefinitely. Which sounds better than “let’s break up,” but amounts to the same thing. I decided not to tell him that I’d potentially met someone else anyway. (Not that it matters, because Robbie’s ghosting me, so that’s going nowhere.) So, as you can imagine, I was already in a pretty bad place when I finally left the office and discovered I had a flat tire. In the rain. I tried to fix it myself but it was really wet and the tire iron slipped and I cut my hand. It was a disaster. So I gave up and just sat there in the mud, bleeding and feeling sorry for myself. 

Not long after that, just as I was contemplating adopting a litter of cats so I don’t have to die alone, there was this voice from out of nowhere asking me if I’m okay. And when I raised my head to look up there was this guy standing over me, soaking wet. Honestly, he looked kind of pathetic, all nervous and dripping, though not entirely uncute. (Is that a word? My spellchecker is giving it an angry red line, but I think it works so I’m going to leave it. Take that, spellchecker!) It was dark, but I could see this strange look on his face, like a mixture of concern and embarrassment. I must have looked like a crazy person. I knew who it was as soon as he spoke. That accent is hard to miss, and he fit your description to a T. It had to be Your Cute Guy.

Figuring that out made me feel better about being approached by a strange man in a parking lot, which is ridiculous because what do we really know about him besides the fact that he likes Star Wars and has gastrointestinal issues? He could be as dangerous as the next guy. But when he noticed I was bleeding he gave me some napkins from the bag of fast food he was carrying. He offered to fix my tire too, which was sweet. You know me well enough to know how hard it is for me to accept help from anyone, so when I tell you I let him, you’ve got to know how bad a shape I was in.

He was really nice about it, though. He gave me the fries from his dinner and made sure I was okay to get home. I watched him from the rear view mirror as I pulled out of the parking lot and he didn’t go back inside until my car was out of sight. That’s a quality guy, right there. 

So, in summary, you have my permission to continue pining. That is all.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** You were right, that is a worrying story. But in deference to your wishes I’m choosing to overlook that and focus on the parts where My Cute Guy was nice and helpful to you.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** He really was. Poor guy. He didn’t seem to know what to make of me. What’s really weird, now that I think about it, is that neither of us thought to introduce ourselves. So I didn’t get his name, sorry. I guess we were both preoccupied.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** I’m just glad you’re safe. I hope that in future when something like that happens, you’ll call me. You know I’d be there in a heartbeat. And when you feel like you want to talk about the rest of it, I’m here.

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** I know. There wasn’t really time to call anyone. If he hadn’t come along you would have been first on my list. Promise. 

**< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Good, then. Just got my edits back, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this short and get some actual work done. We’ll talk more at lunch, yeah? 

**< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Sounds good. And you can tell me where America’s Astronaut is taking you for dinner tonight. It is the third date (if you count the interview, which I do), so you know what that means, right? Get it, girl.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** Well I’m not counting the interview as a date. That would not be very professional of me. Honestly. You’re a terrible influence, you know that? Why are we even friends?

 **< <Daisy to Jemma:>>** Because you love me.

 **< <Jemma to Daisy:>>** This is true.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks! I wanted to get this last chapter up before the finale airs, and I made it just under the wire. Now I can send these two off to their happy ending and focus on my own emotional breakdown today. (I'm going to miss this show a lot okay?) 
> 
> I want to give my deepest thanks to the amazing Libby (@libbyweasley) and Sabrina (@AgentOfShip) one final time for their enduring patience and positivity. They stuck with me when I was stuck, listened to my grumbling, and had great suggestions, not to mention leaving the most encouraging and uplifting notes. True heroes, I tell you! I could not have done this without them. Of all the ways this show has influenced my life, getting to know them through fandom and fanfic has been one of the very best.
> 
> I also have to add another note of thanks to Rainbow Rowell, the author of the book that inspired this. I tried to make it my own and include in as many AoS references as possible, but obviously it wouldn't have existed without her idea in the first place.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Fitz spent the rest of his shift writing two letters. The first he emailed just before shutting down his computer for the night. 

**From:** Leopold Fitz  
**To:** Alphonso Mackenzie  
**Sent:** Wednesday, 10/21/2015 2:58 AM  
**Subject:** My Resignation

Dear Mack,

First of all, I want to thank you for the opportunity you’ve given me to work at The Shield and be part of a team again. Having this job has made me see that I’m capable of more than I thought, and I wouldn’t have known that if it weren’t for you. I know you only hired me as a favor to Bobbi, but not many people would be willing to take a chance on someone like me, so I will always be grateful. 

That being said, I’m afraid this message will serve as my official letter of resignation, effective immediately. I can no longer in good conscience remain an employee of The Shield. This decision has nothing to do with the company or its business, but my own personal need to separate myself from it. I would have preferred to deliver the news to you in person, but I was worried you might try to convince me to stay and that I might have let you. It pains me to let you down, but I truly believe this is the healthiest thing for me right now. I’m sorry I can’t explain it more fully than that, but I hope you’ll understand that I’m doing what I think is best. Please don’t take my short tenure as any reflection on Bobbi’s recommendation. She was, and still is, an excellent judge of character as well as a loyal friend.

Lastly, I hope that you and I can continue on as friends outside of work, or at least keep in touch. Know that you are always welcome to drop by the flat, with or without tacos and beer, any time you like. I only ask that you respect my wish not to discuss my reasons for leaving. Perhaps with some time and distance it might amount to an amusing anecdote, but for now it’s not something I wish to share or dwell on.

All the best,  
Leo Fitz

The second letter he printed out and dropped off on his way out the door.

> Dear Jemma,
> 
> You don’t know me, but I am the person formerly responsible for implementing The Shield’s email surveillance policy. I thought you should know that the messages you’ve been exchanging with your friend and colleague Daisy Johnson get flagged quite a lot, almost daily. In accordance with company policy I should have sent you a warning weeks ago, but I couldn’t go through with it. The reason for that is rather embarrassing (for me, not for you, never for you). 
> 
> For these past few weeks, reading what you and Daisy wrote to each other was the highlight of my day. Your exceptional wit, fierce intelligence, and genuine care for one another was evident in every line. I didn’t want you to stop writing or feel like you were being censored. So I let it go on longer than it should have and told myself you never had to know. But that was selfish of me, not to mention highly unethical, and you do deserve to know. I couldn’t find the courage to tell you in person, so this anonymous note will have to do.
> 
> I’m all too aware that this was an unforgivable invasion of your privacy, and for that I am deeply sorry. What I did was wrong and my actions will weigh on my conscience for a long time. You have every right to be angry, not that you need my permission. I’d understand if you decide to report me to the powers that be, but know that I’m resigning from the company anyway, so it won’t amount to much. If you’re concerned about the contents of your emails being shared with anyone else, I can assure you (for what it’s worth) they never went beyond me.
> 
> The worst part of it all is that I’m fairly certain I’ve ruined what could potentially have been truly meaningful friendships with people I’ve come to care about very much. I wish we had met any other way. This must sound mad to you, but I felt I had to put it in writing because I owe you an apology and also to warn you and Daisy, as I should have from the start, to avoid sending personal messages over company email in the future.
> 
> I really am very sorry.

And that was the end of Fitz’s time working at The Shield.

  


* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

“I talked to Mack at work today,” Bobbi told Fitz one night during dinner.

Hunter was due back the next day and they were both a little on edge, so Fitz had offered to cook for her. Bobbi agreed to come over, but insisted on doing all the cooking herself. She’d made him spaghetti bolognese, his favorite. “He wouldn’t tell me any more about what happened than you have, which is nothing, but he asked how you were.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said you were a little mopey, but otherwise fine.”

Fitz idly twirled a spaghetti noodle around his fork. “Did he seem angry?”

“No. Just worried about you.”

“I don’t deserve it. I didn’t give him any warning when I left. I know I’d be angry if I were in his position.”

“Are you ready to tell me why yet?” Bobbi eyed Fitz suspiciously as he stood up and started clearing the dishes. “I’ll get it out of you one of these days.”

“Maybe,” he called over his shoulder on the way to the sink. “But not today.”

“Someone else has been asking about you too, you know.”

Fitz froze, dishes still in hand. He was glad his back was to Bobbi so she didn’t see the pain that must have been written all over his face. Bobbi didn’t have to specify who she meant. The tone of her voice said it all. 

“Oh?” he threw out, as casually as he could manage. He started the water and went to work scraping the leftover noodles off his plate into the bin under the sink.

“Simmons came by my desk a few days after you left. Apparently, she’d seen us talking in the break room. She asked how well I knew you and when I said we were friends she asked what department you worked in.” 

“So you told her.” It wasn’t a question. He knew it was inevitable.

“I said you used to be in IT but you quit. Should I not have? I didn’t think it was a state secret or anything.”

It took all the self control he had to turn around and look at her as if his world wasn’t falling apart. “No, it’s . . . it’s fine.”

This was it. The moment he’d been dreading. On some level, he’d always known Jemma would work it out eventually. She was smart, a good journalist. There was no way he could remain anonymous forever. The note had sped up the process, but it had always been a matter of time. Now that she knew who he was, the big question was what she was going to do with the information? How would she reconcile the creep who had been reading her emails with the person she’d once thought of as her “cute guy?”

Now that the truth was out there, though, it wasn’t so scary. Unless she decided to track him down and berate him in person — which seemed highly unlikely, based on what he knew about her — he would never know how she’d dealt with it. Nothing was any different for him. That part of his life was over. The day he’d walked out the doors of The Shield for the last time he’d accepted that he would never have the chance to talk with her in person, hear her laugh at one of his jokes, take her out to a fancy restaurant, or spend a night in watching movies on the couch. He couldn’t lose her any more than he already had. No, scratch that. She’d never been his to lose at all.

He had no choice but to pick himself up, dust himself off, and try as best he could to get on with his life. So that’s what he did.

  


* * *

_One Month Later_

Fitz tugged on the strap of his messenger bag with one hand and pushed through the doors of the administration offices with the other. He’d never been to this part of the observatory before. Getting to go behind the scenes wasn’t as exciting as he’d imagined. It looked like any other office, with bland hallways and grey floors. And besides, he was too nervous to appreciate it.

The directory posted next to the doors showed the location of the human resources department two floors down. Despite the labyrinth of stairwells and corridors that all looked the same, it wasn’t that difficult to find. He used the extra time he’d allotted before the interview to practice some breathing techniques he’d researched to steady himself and his trembling hands. There was no one on the inside to put in a good word for him this time. He had to do this all on his own.

The interview started off rocky, with Fitz stumbling through an explanation of his work experience and responsibilities at his previous place of employment. But the hiring manager was friendly and patient with him. He pushed past the awkward bits and focused on emphasizing his knowledge and education. He talked about his interests — in space, engineering, and the vast wonders of the universe. She asked him a few science questions, which he was able to answer easily. After that it was smooth sailing.

She offered him the position on the spot. 

The salary was much less than he’d been making at The Shield, and it basically amounted to a glorified maintenance job, but the trade-off was well worth it. He slept better at night, and could once again look at himself in the mirror in the morning. Jemma was never far from his thoughts, but the crushing weight of guilt he’d been carrying grew lighter with each passing day. His speech was improving too, and his hands scarcely shook at all anymore. Little by little, Fitz started feeling like himself again.

Although he had been initially hired to maintain the scientific equipment in the observatory’s labs, Fitz quickly gained a reputation among the staff for being able to fix anything. Which was how he found himself taking apart the planetarium projector to figure out why it had broken down in the middle of the morning’s brand new presentation. He managed to isolate the issue and have it up and running much quicker than anticipated. With the time he had free, he decided to stay and take in the afternoon show, intriguingly titled “Our Place in the Universe.” The crowd inside the round auditorium was small, even for a weekday. Besides Fitz, there was a mother with a sleeping infant in a stroller and a rather well-behaved toddler in her lap, an elderly couple, a handful of college students and . . . no. It couldn’t be. But there she was.

Jemma was seated directly across from him on the other side of the projector. She looked back at him with a furrowed brow, like he was a puzzle she was trying to work out. He barely had time to process her presence before the lights went down and the narrator started ruminating on how we as a species came to be here, in this time and place, despite the astronomical odds against such a rare and wondrous thing as life on Earth.

Fitz barely heard a word of it over the samba beat inside his chest. How could he concentrate on tiny pinpoints of light billions of miles away when Jemma, as bright and hard to look at as the sun itself, was right there in the same room? 

Or had he imagined it? When he got up the courage to glance in her direction again, she was gone. His confusion only lasted a few seconds, though, for the next thing he knew she was sliding down into the seat next to him. She didn’t speak or look in his direction. Her eyes were raised toward the ceiling as the projected constellations moved across a simulated sky. 

They remained that way for the duration of the half-hour presentation — Jemma watching the show and Fitz watching Jemma, looking for any sign of what she was thinking. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew he had to let her make the first move. Or, technically, the second move. She had been the one to come sit beside him, after all. And she wasn’t running away. That was encouraging. He had to remind himself not to get his hopes up. Maybe she wanted to scream at him and was waiting until the theater cleared out to really let him have it. He didn’t care. She could tell him off all she wanted. He was too happy to see her again.

Even after the lights came up and everyone else left, Jemma didn’t move. She wasn’t looking at the ceiling anymore, but she wasn’t looking at Fitz either. She stared straight ahead, twisting her hands over each other in her lap. Growing impatient with the awkward silence, Fitz gave up waiting for her to speak first.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though they were the only two people in the auditorium now.

“Don’t,” she said. Then she turned to him, her expression and tone heavy with accusation. “Did you follow me here?”

“What? No! I would never—” he protested, but she cut him off. 

“Because I’ve thought about it, and it can’t have been a coincidence, you showing up at the wine bar that night—”

“Hey! I was only making sure you were okay. And let me remind you that _you_ were the one who followed _me_ that night—”

“So you admit it. I had _just_ told Daisy — in confidence, or so I thought — that I’d broken up with my boyfriend and you, after reading that we arranged to meet for drinks, decided to what? Show up there looking all— and there I was like a fool, thinking it was a sign from the bloody universe or something. But in reality you’d been spying on us the whole time!”

They were both speaking at full volume now, and she wouldn’t pause her rant to let him get a word in. He wasn’t going to let that stop him from pleading his case, though.

“It was my job! And I wasn’t spying! I was concerned. About you, and Daisy too, after everything that happened with Lincoln and Ward—” 

“See, there. Right there. It’s weird that you know that. Which only reminds me of _how_ you know that, and I start thinking about it all over again. All those things I wrote about you! Oh, god. It’s absolutely mortifying.”

Finally taking a breath, she buried her face in her hands. Fitz wasn’t sure what to say, but he couldn’t let her go on thinking she had something to be ashamed of.

“Jemma,” he said, softening his tone. He tugged gently on her hands and she let him pull them away. He didn’t let go. Neither did she. “Jemma, no. Like I said in the note, you don’t ever have to feel embarrassed about anything you wrote.”

“And that note! Why did you write it? You could have just left and not said anything. Why only me? Why not Daisy? I spent weeks reading it over and over again, trying to understand what you were saying without letting myself read too much into it.”

Well, now that was interesting.

“Did you _want_ to read something into it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I feel like such an idiot.”

“Please, don’t say that. I’m the idiot. I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I wrote the note because you deserved an explanation. Daisy too. Look, you’re right, I probably should have left a note for her as well, but I guess I felt more guilt where you were concerned.”

To his relief, she didn’t ask what he meant by that. She just took a deep breath and shook her head, a small smile lurking in the corners of her mouth. When she eventually spoke, her voice was silvery, its earlier sharpness worn down to a smooth finish. “Fitz— may I call you Fitz? Bobbi said that’s what you go by.”

“Fitz is fine.”

Fitz was great, wonderful, potentially magnificent. Even in his weaker moments, he never dreamed he’d get to hear her say his name like that. 

“Fitz, I need you to understand something. What I wrote to Daisy in those emails, it may have sounded like I was joking, but I was far more serious about you than I ever let on.” She was blushing now, and it made her look even more achingly beautiful than she already was. He remained silent, letting her continue her train of thought without interruption. “That’s why it hurt so much when I found out who you were. Did you read those emails because I was talking about you? Were you sitting there laughing at us as you read them?”

Now he had to interrupt. “No! Never. By that point, when you mentioned that you fancied some guy in the office, I was already done for. I thought you must have been talking about someone else. In fact, if I’m being honest, I was a little jealous. And when I realized it was me, I couldn’t believe my luck. That someone so smart, and funny, and kind, and generous, would notice me. But then it started to feel like a curse. Because I had this secret, and I thought if you knew, your opinion of me would change and you’d never want to see me again.”

“I’ll admit, once I'd confirmed my suspicions with Bobbi, I was gutted. Daisy was furious. She wanted to turn you in, even though I said it was pointless. But I didn’t feel angry. Just disappointed. And embarrassed — I know you don’t think I should be, but I couldn’t help it — and there was this strange sense of loss, even though I didn’t really lose anything. I don’t know if I can explain it.” 

“You don’t have to. I know exactly what you mean. But if you were as serious as you say, why were you ready to move on with that astronaut guy so quickly? Are you two still—” 

“We’re not,” she blurted out before he could finish. “It turned out we weren’t that compatible after all.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.”

Fitz tried not to show how glad he was to hear it, but she saw right through him. “Is it?” When she looked up at him again her eyes were filled with amusement, and something like hope. “You said in your note that you thought we could be friends. Do you still think so? After everything that’s happened?”

He paused to take a long breath. He could stop right there. Accept her offer of friendship and walk away from this with his dignity intact. Finally, he shook his head and said, “No.” 

She nodded sadly and started to let go of his hands, but he held on to them tighter, adding, “I think we could be more than that.”

That prompted a wide smile from her, and the hum of electricity buzzing in his chest spread out to the rest of him. He felt himself being drawn to her, a gravitational pull he was helpless to resist. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he could have sworn she felt it too. They came closer and closer together, until he was near enough to press his lips to hers. Then she closed the distance between them and kissed him first.

Kissing Jemma was everything Fitz had imagined, and better. It was like being bathed in the warmth of the sun after a long, cold winter. They moved together in fluid cooperation, taking turns leading and following as they explored one another. It was natural and intuitive. He could already tell they would be excellent partners. He thought he’d never taste anything as delectable as her lips, but then he found her luscious tongue and savored it even more. He ran his fingers through her hair while she pet the back of his neck with her soft hands. The sensation was almost overwhelming. How had he lived before, without her in his life? Without this? There was no going back now.

They broke apart, breathing in heavy gulps of air. As much as he wanted to keep going, he had to pull himself back or he might scare her away with the intensity of his feelings. His heart was so full of love for her he worried it might spill up into his throat and escape as some sort of flowery, romantic declaration. 

Jemma, it seemed, was experiencing a similar impulse.

“Have you ever met someone and you just _knew_ they were going to be in your life for a long time?” she asked in a whisper, as if it were a secret between them. “That’s how I felt the first time I saw you. We hadn’t even spoken, but there was something about you I— God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Wait until Daisy finds out. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“It’s okay. We don’t have to do everything all at once. We can take it slow. Maybe start with dinner?” 

“That would be nice.”

They sat there for a while grinning stupidly at each other. He would have gladly stayed that way for the rest of his shift, but there was something else he wanted to ask. And since it felt safe to change the subject now that they were on the same page, he ventured, “Speaking of Daisy, how is she? The last time I saw her she was in kind of a bad place.”

“She’s great, actually. She got promoted to editor, so now she has a staff of writers working under her. And just when I thought she was going to be fine being on her own for a while, she started dating this new guy. Daniel. He’s sweet and unwaveringly supportive, exactly what she needs. A little old-fashioned, but that’s okay. I’m very happy for her.”

“Then I am too.”

Jemma gave him a scrutinizing look, then nodded once, as if coming to a decision. “She’ll come around to the idea. Of me and you. I think.”

“I certainly hope so,” he joked. A short moment later he heard her laugh clearly for the very first time. It immediately became his favorite sound in the entire universe.

“We’ll work on your apology together. Maybe arrange some act of contrition. Show her that you’re a good person and your motives weren’t malicious. Leave it to me. I’ll come up with a plan.”

“Sounds good. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. And for the record, I didn’t follow you here. I work here. That’s public knowledge, by the way, which you could have easily gotten from Bobbi or Mack, so I could just as well accuse you of following me. Again.”

“Well that’s just ridiculous,” she started to argue. He gave her a smile to let her know he was kidding and she smiled back, message received. “Oh, but the real reason I’m here is because I was assigned to write a piece about the new planetarium show. I must confess I missed quite a lot of it. Coulson’s not going to be pleased. My mind was . . . elsewhere.”

There was that lovely blush again. Fitz knew he’d never grow tired of seeing it.

“I’ll tell you what. How about I run it again just for you, so you can actually pay attention this time?”

“You would do that?“

“Of course.”

Fitz set up the projector to replay the presentation and returned to his seat next to Jemma. As the lights went down she leaned over and put her head on his shoulder. When his eyes had adjusted to the dark he looked down at her. She was looking back at him with the softest, most tender expression he’d ever seen. The urge to kiss her again hit him like a freight train, and for once he had absolutely no reason to resist. 

She didn’t see much of the show the second time either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My final thank you goes to you, reader, for giving this a chance and sticking with it (especially if you started reading it as a WIP -- sorry for those long gaps between chapters!). I've truly enjoyed reading your lovely comments and encouragement. That's what makes it all worthwhile. If you ever want to reach out, you can find me on Tumblr: @blancasplayground. I'd love to hear from you!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank so much for reading! Hit me up on Tumblr anytime, where I'm @blancasplayground!


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